


just nod and follow me

by friday



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band), Triple H (Korea Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friday/pseuds/friday
Summary: “We’re playing hooky tonight, pass it on.” It's Hyuna's idea, of course.





	just nod and follow me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [staygame (sungjae)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungjae/gifts).



“We’re playing hooky tonight, pass it on.” Hyuna’s mouth is sticky with gloss where it kisses the rim of Hyojong’s ear. The sudden contact surprises him, but he doesn’t flinch—Hyuna had been delighted to find out during practice during Triple H debut promotions that he’d had a crush on her when he first joined Cube (which, okay. But also, big deal. Who didn’t have a crush on Hyuna in 2012?), and had amped up her attempts at flirting to an almost comical degree. From anyone else, it might’ve seemed cruel, but from Hyuna it was playful and winking, stripping the embarrassment from the situation and turning it into an inside joke between them. He turns to look at her, and she raises a finger to her lips, looking coy.

He’ll play along. “Pass it on to who?”

“Hwitaek, duh.”

“He’s right there, noona,” Hyojong says, just to tease. They’re in Los Angeles, mostly for KCON that weekend, but also for a Puma shoot that’s brought them to a Little Tokyo warehouse, gutted and graffitied. They’ve finished the group shots and are now on to individual shots, Hwitaek up first.

To be absolutely clear: it’s Hyuna’s shoot, not Triple H’s. But Hwitaek and Hyojong were going to be there anyway, so why not? “It’s like you guys are my _video hoes_ ,” Hyuna had said, gleeful, when their managers brought the offer to them, and that was that.

Hyuna pouts, shoving him. “Don’t be boring, Hyojongie.”

Hyojong laughs, shoving back. “Okay, okay, noona, sorry. I’ll pass it on.”

 

 

Hyojong catches Hwitaek as he lurks around the refreshments, trying to find something that’s not green and/or antioxidant. It was disappointing, kind of. All Hyojong has wanted since landing at LAX is hot meat and dense bread—this was America, and he had certain expectations, you know? He tugs at Hwitaek’s techwear-whatever sleeve—they’d drawn straws to see who’d play which role, and so Hyojong was Hyuna’s candy pink video angel to Hwitaek’s all-black video hypebeast—and looks around exaggeratedly before leaning in and cupping his hand around Hwitaek’s ear to pass on Hyuna’s message.

Hwitaek looks at him in confusion. “You know I’m always down to play hooky,” he says slowly. “But aren’t we done for the day after this shoot anyway?”

Hyojong blows at the exposed part of Hwitaek’s neck, cackling when spit hits skin and Hwitaek shrinks away, letting out a yelp. “Hey hyung, I haven’t even given you the second part of the message.” He pauses, waiting for Hwitaek to step back in his orbit before saying, “Don’t be boring.”

Hwitaek’s eyeroll is the stuff of legends, but Hyojong puts his hands up, and nods across the set. Past all the camera staff and managers and equipment and wires, standing in a pool of white hot studio lighting, is Hyuna, throwing them both a thumbs up and a blinding smile.

 

 

“Taco, taco,” Hyuna chants softly and giddily. They’re all in the backseat of a taxi, Hyuna in the middle with her arms around both their necks. They’re on their way to get tacos because Hyuna had wanted tacos, and she’d won the rock-paper-scissors match they’d played earlier to decide where to eat dinner, even though at that point it was close to ten at night LA time and Hyojong’s body had no idea what it was supposed to feel anymore. He’d wanted something spicy and soupy and Hwitaek had wanted meat, but Hyuna had been adamant about both tacos and using rock-paper-scissors to decide, and it was easy to lose against Hyuna, who always chose rock first and knew everyone knew it. “Wait, wait, stop! I want to go that one.”

She unsticks her arm from Hwitaek to wave at the driver in the rear view mirror, and he obligingly slams on the brakes. The taco truck that’s caught Hyuna’s attention is situated in a parking lot across a busy four-lane street that their driver could’ve absolutely done a u-turn on at the next intersection, but Hyuna’s charm has always been one that transcends both language and common sense. They all jolt forward, and then Hyuna’s scrambling, almost elbowing Hyojong in the crotch and Hwitaek in the face in her hurry to get out.

Hwitaek, the only person in their trio who could be trusted to both carry their money and not lose it, hands the driver a generous tip, throwing a hasty thank you over his shoulder as he opens the door on his side of the car.

Their taxi driver screeches away, and Hyuna barely looks both ways before darting across the road. She turns when she gets to the other side, her mouth a slash of red in the night as she laughs at them. When she raises one thin arm in the air to wave at them, the bracelets on her wrist slide down to her elbow. Even off-duty and as familiar as she was to him, Hyuna was one of the most beautiful women Hyojong knew. It was entirely possible one never got over one’s crush on Hyuna.

Just as Hyojong gears up to make the same dash, he feels a hand catch his wrist; he looks down, it’s Hwitaek’s. When he looks up, Hwitaek’s looking across the street at her with a ridiculous, fond smile on his face, and then he’s turning to direct it at Hyojong.

Hwitaek hand slides down to intertwine their fingers together. “Come on,” he says, pulling Hyojong along.

 

 

Hyojong suspected this the last time they were here, but tonight confirms it: Los Angeles in the summertime might be the best place he’s ever been. It’s cool and dry, just a hint of a breeze in the air. And this might have something to do with it too, but just like the last time, he’s here with Hwitaek and Hyuna, and it’s impossible not to feel a bit sentimental. They didn’t get to see much of LA then, given that they were in back-to-back photoshoots, but scheduling had worked out this time such that they had one glorious night off, tonight.

They’re taking advantage of it to sit in a row on a parking bumper, soggy plates of tacos balanced on their knees. Even though Hyojong’s ass is in mortal danger of sliding off and eating concrete, he’s happy to be exactly where he is, with Hwitaek warm where he’s pressed against him to his left, and Hyuna on the other side of Hwitaek, making deeply-felt murmurs of satisfaction as she bolts down a short rib taco.

They finish their tacos and clean up—that is, Hyuna and Hyojong put their plates to either side of them and Hwitaek sighs loudly and pointedly before getting up to throw them away. When he comes back, Hyuna’s scooted into his middle spot on the bumper, tucking her head under Hyojong’s chin. Hwitaek settles in on her other side, opening his elbow obligingly for Hyuna to tuck her arm under. They sit in contented, satiated silence, the only sounds that of meat sizzling on the grill and the steady thrum of English and Spanish from the truck owners and the crowd.

Hyuna’s the one to speak first. “What’s next, kids?”

“ _Noona_ ,” Hwitaek groans.

“‘m not a kid,” Hyojong agrees, burying his nose in Hyuna’s hair, which smells comfortingly of max-hydrating conditioner for colored hair.

“Lucky for you _kids_ ,” Hyuna says, extricating herself from both of them to dig her phone out of her pocket, “I have a plan. Jiwon has a friend who has a friend who’s throwing a house party out in Silver Lake. Either you’re in or you’re out. And if you’re out, Hwitaek, you better give me some cash before I stand in the street and get in the first car that stops for me.”

“Why would you say that?” Hwitaek asks, scrambling to his feet.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Hyuna smirks, before turning on her heel, not even bothering to wait for affirmation.

Hyojong stands up too, wincing as his knees crack. “She just played you like a fiddle,” he tells Hwitaek sincerely.

“I know,” Hwitaek sighs. “Might as well, I guess. Call time’s not until ten tomorrow.”

 

 

Jiwon isn’t even at the party yet when they get there, after what felt like the world’s longest car ride—Hyojong didn’t understand how anyone in LA got anything done, given how much time it took to get from one place to another.

The house they’ve pulled up to is a sweet white two-story with a porch and a red roof, situated up enough of an incline that when Hyojong gets out of the car and looks back at where they came from, he can see a lake before him. It looks close enough that it feels like he could reach it with just a running start and a leap.

Hyuna and Hwitaek are already crossing the lawn to the house, from which Hyojong can hear the thump of bass and the murmur of steady conversation, signs of a good party. There’s a splash from the backyard, where a pool evidently was. A giddy feeling seizes Hyojong’s chest until he feels like he’s choking on it, and then he runs to catch up to Hyuna and Hwitaek, jumping on their shoulders when he reaches them and whooping.

“What the—” Hwitaek says, but he’s laughing, pulling at Hyojong’s arm so it holds tight across his collarbones.

“It’s party Dawnie!” Hyuna shouts, hip-checking both of them and making them stumble.

Hyojong pulls the front door open when they get to it, waving Hyuna and Hwitaek in with a bow, before following after them. It’s hotter inside, though not quite sweltering yet. A girl with silver hair crossing in front of them to the living room smiles at them distractedly, raising her chin in a greeting, but in general barely anyone spares them a second look as they pick their way down the long hallway, peeking into the rooms they pass. Hyojong feels anonymous in the best way.

It’s not until they reach the open glass doors to the backyard that Hyojong remembers he’s stone-cold sober, as are Hyuna and Hwitaek.

Someone who is definitely not sober stumbles into Hwitaek from behind, slurring an apology. Hwitaek waves them off, and then turns to them both. “Drink?” he asks, miming the motion.

“Drink,” Hyuna says decisively. She pulls them through the doors to the backyard where there is indeed a pool, beautifully tiled and illuminated, casting all the people sitting around it in an eerie, aquatic light. There’s a makeshift bar along the back of the house, a wooden picnic table with assorted bottles of alcohol and a half-mauled cake on it.

They clink red plastic cups, into which Hyuna had poured a generous amount of the clear liquor that had the prettiest label on the table. “Bottoms up,” Hyuna says, with a grin, knocking hers back.

 

 

When Hyojong and Hwitaek’s manager calls, it’s when they’re in the middle of a shockingly comprehensive conversation with some young Korean American guy named Dustin and his group of friends, aided in large part by the year Dustin and one of his friends, a big guy named Stanley with tattoos all up and down his arms that Hyojong eyed in appreciation, had spent teaching English in Korea after college, and Hwitaek’s liquid courage. It had helped that Dustin had approached him first, not Hyuna.

They’d been sitting by the diving board, nursing their fifth shot each, when Dustin walked over, straight-backed and nervous-looking in a tight black t-shirt. Instinctively, both Hyojong and Hwitaek shifted slightly to block Hyuna, Hwitaek dropping a protective hand to her knee. The other nice thing about LA was that basically no one outside a five-kilometer radius of whatever concert venue they were playing at knew who they were, and even if they were recognized, the general LA populace was at this point inured to fame.

“Uh, hello. I’m Dustin,” Dustin said in clearly rusty Korean, and then turned to Hwitaek. “Hui, right? Pentagon?” He sounded almost apologetic. “My girlfriend really likes your group.”

Hwitaek got so red Hyojong was surprised the glow of his ears didn’t attract bugs. Still, he could’ve kissed Dustin, for putting that look on Hwitaek’s face.

(Dustin had, of course, turned to Hyuna afterwards, and stammered his way through a garbled compliment that basically boiled down to, _wow, you are really really_ really _really pretty_ , before inviting them over to hang out with his friends.)

Dustin and his friends were guys who all had the same haircut (short on the sides, long on the top) and body type (impressively triangular), and they were straightforward and uncomplicated in a way that Hyojong admired—Stanley actually had a WORK HARD PLAY HARD tattoo tucked into the sleeve on his right bicep, and Hyojong had the uncontrollable urge to laugh every time he gesticulated too wildly and his shirt sleeve rode up, flashing the tattoo.

Just as Stanley is in the middle of telling a story about the time he and Dustin had been swindled by a pair of beautiful teenage girls on the streets of Myeongdong, Hwitaek’s pocket buzzes.

“Hello?” Hwitaek says, mouthing _sorry_ at Stanley, who waves his hand, turning to his friends to finish the story, though they must’ve heard it countless times already. “Oh hi, hyung, what’s up?”

He listens for a second, and then follows it up with a swear so vehement it makes Dustin look over at him in admiration.

“You okay, man?” Dustin asks once he’s hung up.

“Yeah, okay,” Hwitaek sighs. “Hyojong, we should go—we just got a radio interview pushed to seven.”

It’s almost one, and they’re a good 45 minutes away from their hotel. “Fuuuuck,” Hyojong says, pushing his lower lip out in a pout.

“Yeah,” Hwitaek agrees. “Come on, let’s call a car.” He turns to Hyuna. “Sorry, noona. You should stay! I’m sure Dustin would be happy to have you, right?”

Dustin’s nodding so hard his head might detach from his neck. “For sure. Me and my boys will show you a good time.”

Hyuna laughs, plucking Dustin’s cup from his hand. She downs it in one, before handing it back to him. Dustin looks like he’s seriously considering cutting the rim away and pocketing it, but then Hyuna does him one better and presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek. “It was nice to meet you!” she tells him. “And everyone!” Here, she waves at all of Dustin’s assorted friends, blowing them kisses. “But I’m with these guys.”

And with that, she links her arm through Hyojong and Hwitaek’s, steering them back towards the house.

 

 

“Noona, you didn’t have to leave, you know,” Hwitaek says later, when they’re sitting all in a row in the backseat of the cab back to their hotel. “Jiwon-noona just got there.”

“Please,” Hyuna says, scoffing. “I can hang out with Jiwon whenever I want. Tonight was for you and Hyojong.”

Hyojong exchanges a look with Hwitaek over Hyuna’s head. Even in the darkness of the car, Hwitaek’s got a wild grin on his face, looking happier even than he did when Dustin had approached him earlier. Hyojong’s pretty sure his face looks the same. He leans down, going to press a kiss to Hyuna’s temple. At the last minute, she turns, and his mouth brushes hers.

“Ha,” Hyuna says, sounding smug. “Got you.”

“Yeah,” Hyojong says, laughing. “You really did.”

They drive by a streetlight just in time for Hyojong to see the pleased look on Hyuna’s face. Then, she’s tilting her head to pillow it on Hwitaek’s shoulder, butting his chin gently. She turns the hand she has on Hyojong’s thigh palm up, waiting patiently for Hyojong’s fingers to find hers.

They do, as she knew they would.

**Author's Note:**

> \- title is from 365 fresh!  
> \- thank you nikki for the LA knowledge & em for the read-through~  
> \- and thank you most of all sweet e for donating to RAICES, I hope this is close to what you had in mind ;; apologies I couldn't make them (all) touch mouths


End file.
